The Eight Times
by Mimiminaj
Summary: A collection of eight different moments that led Stiles to believe him and Derek had something. First time: the pack has a crazy drinking party. Derek shows up. Stiles spins the bottle and insists on kissing Derek. Kissing leads to dry humping and really, Stiles shouldn't need seven more similar situations but he gets them anyway.
1. The First Time

_A/N - Thank you all for sticking with me. : )_

* * *

Stiles had misread countless situations over the course of his life. He made a habit of regularly overreacting to situations that really didn't need overreacting. He made it his goal to read so far into things that sometimes the big picture was completely lost.

Yes, Stiles' track record showed that whenever he thought something or suspected something, it probably wasn't so.

Stiles could think of eight different times that had led him to believe that him and Derek had _something_. That _something_ could only be defined by _venturing_, and Stiles was fairly sure he was ready to do the _exploring_.

As his father had always said - once is an incident. Twice was a coincidence. And three times was a pattern.

So what did that make eight times? Yes, looking back, Stiles could see a definite pattern. Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale totally had something.

And he'd be damned before he didn't try to figure out exactly what it was they had.

**The First Time**

"Lydia, I don't want you kissing him."

"Oh shut the hell up Jackson," Allison chimed, hands all over Scott's knee and eyes blown wide. "It's not like either of them are going to remember this in the morning! And if you actually have that little faith in your girlfriend, maybe you two _really_ shouldn't be together!"

The group cheered. Scott had a stupid ass grin on his face that clearly stated _my girlfriend is the shit and her logic is law and wow that hand on my knee is getting me HOT; _to which absolutely nobody paid any attention to.

Erika and Boyd were practically fucking each other with their eyes. Erika had just landed on Boyd, successfully giving him the make out session of the night, and apparently lighting both of their sexual fires at the same time.

Stiles briefly wondered if it actually hurt to be bit _like that_ in a place _way down there_, but he concluded that some thing's really weren't worth pondering over.

Issac was in total la la land. Like, eyes glazed over and rolling around his head with a smirk and slight bit of drool coming out la la land. Stiles suppressed a giggle. Isaac had just kissed Lydia, and he was pretty sure he'd just found out whom Isaac was crushing on.

Than again, Isaac's been in la la land since his turn with Scott, a round that had left everybody confused and two boys looking thoroughly pleased. Stiles was going to chalk it up to the (let's face it – deadly levels of) alcohol they had consumed. Cause if it wasn't the alcohol? Yeah, Stiles wasn't sure he wanted to have the oh-my-god-my-friends-are-queer-for-each-other freak-out.

Then again, Stiles doubted he needed to have any kind of freak-out. He was not going to remember any of this come the morning. Stiles could hold his liquor about as well as a bottle with a hole in it could. And given the parade of beer cans, wine bottles, margehritta mixes, and stains of tequila that filled the basement, Stiles was (for all intensive purposes) _totally_ gone.

Well, totally gone pretty much described all of them, so Stiles couldn't feel that bad about it.

"And that's how it goes," Erika howled, "you spin, you land, you make the fuck out!"

Cat calls and cheers followed, though they were mostly dominated and led by Boyd.

Stiles knew what was going on. Mostly. He knew he was about to kiss Lydia. He was excited for that. But he had just finished kissing Erika, and he also liked that. Than again, he was surprised when he enjoyed kissing Scott and Jackson too.

He was pretty sure he was a little trashed right now. And a little horny.

"Rules are rules Lydia, get your pretty ass over here." Stiles was impressed with himself. That was pretty manly and dominating, which he'd hoped was a turn on.

What the group actually heard, though, was; "Ralees are Roolers Lids, get yours perrif ace heer!"

Which, whatever, Lydia started crawling forward so clearly the message still found it's way through the language barrier Stiles had going for him.

And then her lips were on his. And his back hit the floor. And she was on top of her. And his head was swimming. And he's pretty sure he heard Jackson growling. And he's pretty sure he heard a lot of whopping. And he's pretty sure Lydia whispered something in his ear. And he's pretty sure he just thought of a lot of sentences that started with and. And his head wasn't just swimming; it was practically doing the iron man.

And then Lydia was off of him. Stiles didn't sit up. It was comfortable. Maybe he'd pass out now. That might be nice. He actually was pretty tired.

The group pressed on with their game. He heard the signs of protest, some sloppy kissing, some girl on girl action and some boy on boy action. He groggily looked up when it was his turn. He wondered when Boyd and Erika had moved across the room onto the couch. He wondered why they thought it was appropriate to dry hump each other in front of everybody.

Stiles shrugged, decided he didn't care, and spun the bottle. Everybody booed when it landed in the middle of two spots, the currently vacated one's that Erika and Boyd had left.

"Well that's no fun," Stiles protested.

He was about to grab the bottle when a distraction came in the form of one Derek Hale. Whoops. Busted.

The tall, dark, handsome, mysterious, painfully tragic and illegally beautiful (what the fuck was running through Stiles' mind?!) alpha appeared at the doorway.

"Well…this is perfectly responsible of all of you."

Stiles was pretty sure that Derek was the most condescending person he'd ever met. And the guy was totally judging. But that was kind of understandable, seeing as they were all having fun and fun had obviously burned Derek's house down or done something equally as bad to get the two of them to be archenemies.

Oh. Wait. That kind of did happen. Stiles was suddenly very sympathetic toward Derek and mad at himself for participating in the evil fun.

A small part of him, the very small sober part of him that hid behind a waterfall of alcohol, regretted the fun-burned-Derek's-house-down train of thought.

"Derek!" Jackson piped up, bringing Stiles back to the real world. The new werewolf looked antsy, probably because he was the most to blame. The party was in his basement and most of this was his parents' unused and forgotten liquor.

"I was going to invite you, but you know...shit Lydia that feels good!"

And within seconds Jackson had Lydia pinned to the floor.

Derek's eyes widened. He looked pissed. No, he looked downright homicidal. He crossed the room and growled at all of them.

"Do you even know how much you've had to have drunk to get so fucking wasted?" Derek snapped, bending down and pulling Jackson off of Lydia. It was probably more for Lydia's safety, but Derek still infused _a lot_ of anger in the act of throwing Jackson off; maintaining the mood-killing-mood Derek had going for them all.

"Derek, we were just," Scott began, because he's probably second at fault as Derek had pretty much made him second in command.

Derek's face shut him up.

And that's when Stiles realized where it was Derek was standing. He quickly fumbled into a standing position, started toward Derek, and proceeded to fall forward.

Derek caught him with ease. The growl and the look of anger told Stiles how thankful he should be that he digested about a gallon of liquid courage before attempting this.

"You're going to kiss me know."

"The fuck?" Derek growled, attempting to push Stiles away, but Stiles was Jelly and everybody knows that that's a werewolf's kryptonite.

"I spun the bottle and it landed on you. I'm sure you've played, kiss me." Stiles attempted to connect their mouths; Derek sidestepped.

"I'm not playing your stupid game."

"Jesus Derek, stop being a pussy and kiss him! You have as much fun as a rabbit does."

And okay, Scott, Stiles had thought, that made about as much sense as...nothing, Stiles had nothing to compare it too. How the hell did Scott now how much fun a rabbit had?

So not the point though. Main idea: Scott was helping Stiles achieve what he wanted, so Stiles had to agree.

"Yeah, don't be a rabbit you dumb rabbit!"

Stiles briefly wondered what the hell took over all of their minds. He didn't care. He thought he could see Derek's resolve weakening. Then again, he was pretty sure he saw a feathered Kanima in the corner of the room so he wasn't exactly sure if his senses could be trusted that much.

"Stiles. Get off."

"Correction, Stiles, get on!" Erika cheered. Oh yeah. Everybody had forgotten about the two of them.

"Unlike you, Erika, I am not a raging hormonal teenager that needs sexual contact to feel satisfied."

"Derek," Stiles murmured. He could feel the alpha tense. It was the most needy and breathless sounding Stiles had ever sounded. And yes, he had totally done it on purpose.

"Please…"

Derek growled, turned his eyes on Stiles, and quickly pressed their lips together.

But that was it. Stiles didn't even really realize what was happening before it was over. It was a soft pressure and than absolutely nothing. He pouted.

"What the hell was that?" Stiles asked, hands going around Derek's neck. His voice lost all breathlessness and insecurity. Drunk Stiles wanted his damn kiss and drunk Stiles was going to get it _now_.

"I'm not playing your games. I gave you a fucking kiss and that's exactly what you asked for. Now get off of me so I can beat Jackson the fuck up."

They both heard a whimper. No one paid Jackson any attention.

"No, that's not the game," Stiles drunkenly chastised. "What you gave me was a peck. Look around you. You see Erika and Boyd on the couch? You see Jackson and Lydia on the floor? I want you to kiss me like you're going to put your dick in me."

_Oh_. Stiles knew he was going to regret saying that in the morning. But he kind of liked being so lose and..._slutty, _and if anything, the look on Derek's face was so worth it.

But then his back hit the wall. And he had a wall of muscle pressed straight into his body and the hottest mouth ever pushing against his. He moaned. He couldn't help himself.

Stiles hand's slid up to Derek's hair, knotting in them and pulling him down more into his mouth. Derek's hands gripped Stiles sides, holding him steady and _holy shit was he rocking him against the wall?_

Stiles really did moan. "De-rek."

And he had been wrong before. _That_ was the most needy and breathless his voice had ever sounded.

Derek growled. But it wasn't the usual warning growl Stiles had gotten used to. It was a this-is-mine-and-everybody-else-needs-to-back-the- fuck-off growl. That or I'm-really-enjoying-this growl. Stiles was okay with either option.

"This good?" Derek growled (yes, that same growl they just covered) as he hiked Stiles thigh up in his hand and pushing his groin more against Stiles'.

Then retreating.

Then pushing against him again.

Holy shit Stiles didn't know when a simple spin the bottle kiss had turned into a grind fest against the wall, but he absolutely _loved_ it.

He was trying to say yes when he felt everything leave him. He opened his eyes and Derek was standing a few feet away, wiping at his mouth and blinking his eyes rapidly. They were red. His lips were swollen. Stiles touched his own, realizing his must look the same.

"Are you happy now? Fucking stupid ass game." Derek turned without another word, marching over to the stereo system and turning it off.

"For those who aren't already passed out...pass the fuck out. The parties over."

Stiles watched as he started picking up empty bottles and red solo cups from the floor, picking up a trash bag and using it to pretty much clean the basement.

_Oh my god, he's amazing at kissing and he cleans up our messes. Why have I not realized what a fucking catch Derek fucking Hale was before?_

Stiles watched him as he returned the basement to its prior- pre werewolf party condition. Well, he more stared at him. He was transfixed. He wanted that mouth, that body, again.

"Derek," he began. He had to stop because his throat all of a sudden hurt and he started coughing like crazy because of it.

"You're the most wasted, Stiles. How could you be the last to pass out?"

"Want you. Please. _More_."

"You don't want me Stiles. We both know that's the alcohol talking. Go to sleep."

Stiles really wanted to protest. Wanted to get the no his head was screaming out of his mouth. But, alas, he couldn't. Nobody wasted ever decides when he or she passes out. Stiles _totally_ would not have chosen this moment too if he had had even an ounce of control.

* * *

It had made for a brutal morning. No, a brutal day. The werewolves (fuck them) had been fine. They woke up completely sober. Allison, Lydia, and Stiles weren't so lucky.

There was an upside to being a human though. Whereas alcohol totally corrupts a human's memory, it _erases_ a werewolves'. Stiles was pretty sure he was the only one to recall the final kiss of the night.

He had kissed Derek Hale. He had totally forgotten what the actual kiss had felt like or consisted of, but fact was fact.

Derek Hale had kissed him, and Stiles was fairly sure he had said something about Derek's dick to get him to do it.

Every time Stiles had thought about it, his headache increased tenfold.

The first time Stiles saw Derek after that night was three days later. It was for a training session. Stiles was so god damn embarrassed and nervous.

But Derek was his normal self. He made absolutely no mention of anything that happened, and he was fairly sure the alpha had convinced himself that Stiles didn't remember anything and that he only did it because he was a stupid drunk teenager.

So Stiles let it slide.

This made him very grateful, actually, as he had sort of been lying to himself earlier. He did remember three things about the kiss. There had definitely been tongue, there had definitely been a wall, and there had definitely been some grinding.

So when Derek had shoved him against the wall a few training practices later and threatened to rip his legs off if he didn't take their training more seriously, he rejoiced.

He could definitely play the I-don't-remember-anything-because-I'm-such-a-slutt y-drunk role.

Just forget, right? He was drunk. He hadn't had control.

Once. Once was just an incident. That was all it was. That was all it had to be.

He was so wrong.

* * *

_A/N - Thanks for reading! Please review if you have time. Second time's main plot is...drumroll...at a rock concert! Evil thugs get angry at Stiles. Who's there to save him? I think you all know. WHO'S EXCITED!? _


	2. The Second Time

**THE SECOND TIME**

Okay, since when did they do rock concerts? Stiles had no idea who had thought of this idea, or when it had morphed from an idea to a legit activity, but the end result was pretty fantastic.

The pack had decided to go to their first ever group rock concert. Yep, they carpooled in Allison's van and had driven a total of four hours to San Francisco California. They were seeing a Canadian band named Marianas Trench, a band that straddled hard rock, pop, and even a little dance music to perfection. Although the concert itself was surprsingly screamy, most of them didn't mind. Allison and Lydia still had their token pop songs, so in the end, everybody was happy.

The best part of the night, however, was holding Derek's hand.

Even if it was under less than romantic conditions, the base point was the same. Derek's hand had encased Stiles.

It happened right after the concert had finished. The audience was hardcore crazy. He was pretty sure everybody had a little to drink, and absolutely nobody knew exactly which way the exits were.

Stiles was still in euphoria after the band's encore. He hadn't realized the pack was moving until it was too late. All of a sudden he was surrounded by bodies he didn't know. Violent bodies. Sloppy, drunk, get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way bodies. Masculine, testosterone filled and ready-to-fight bodies.

A fairly older guy (Stiles guessed mid thirties) bumped into Stiles as the younger teen was trying to work his way around the crowd.

"Hey kid, Watch where the fuck you're going."

"Seriously?" Stiles spluttered before he could think better of his actions. "I was totally standing right here."

"And I was clearly walking right here," he growled, and really Stiles couldn't help himself. That was the puniest growl he had ever heard. He practically heard five I'm-going-to-tear-you-limb-from-limb growls daily. And here this bozo was growling like a kitten.

He laughed.

Thirty something year old dude got pissed. Quickly.

"You're laughing? You keep that up and I'll break your fucking nose. Now get the fuck out of my way."

And Stiles laughed harder. Not only could this guy not growl, but he couldn't give a threat to save his life. Stiles had heard more creative and deadly threats than a tortured victim; this guy clearly didn't know whom he was dealing with.

But then his laughter quickly died. Apparently it was Stiles who didn't know who he was dealing with. The guy had met the end of his patience. Stiles barely had time to register the man ball up his fist before said fist was flying right at his face.

He closed his eyes. It didn't hit.

"I think you should probably leave now." He heard a gasp of pain. He opened his eyes to the back of Derek's hand, which, just like in the supernatural movies, had caught the guys' fist mid punch.

Stiles unconsciously moved closer to Derek.

"Let go of my fucking hand!" Derek did, practically throwing it away from him; the man followed the direction of his fist and stumbled backwards.

"Now get the fuck out of here," Derek growled. _And that's how you growl_, Stiles thought proudly. Because it had this asshole absolutely shaking in his boots.

"Well ain't that cute. Look boys," the man indicated to his friends in the sidelines, "the boyfriend is sticking up for his bitch." If the man's voice wasn't wavering, Stiles might have been hurt.

"Said boyfriend could beat your fucking face in gramps, get the hell out of here and go terrorize some other underage kid." Stiles spoke up; gleeful at the four glares he received.

The man lunged at Stiles. Derek grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the floor. One of the friends tried to tackle the alpha; he ended up on the ground too.

The other two seemed to actually posses a brain. They quickly helped their friends up and pulled them away from the scene.

Stiles beamed up at the back of Derek's head. When the alpha turned, the glare Stiles received didn't faze him in the slightest.

"Maybe if my _boyfriend _hadn't left me by myself, drunk thirty-year olds wouldn't have tried to beat my face in."

"I'm going to beat your face in."

"Now that was a growl."

"What?"

"They tried to gro-" Stiles smile fell. His eyes had glanced behind Derek. Derek turned to see what the younger man was looking at.

"We should go," the said together.

The 30-year olds apparently had plenty of friends. It looked like a group of ten people were making their way toward them, equally pissed off faces shared between them.

"Don't think you can take them," Stiles joked weakly.

"I could fucking break them all...with a hell of a lot of witnesses and probably the cops getting involved."

"Point taken."

Derek quickly grabbed Stiles hand, laced their fingers (_laced their fingers!) _and started to take off. He practically dragged Stiles behind him, but the younger boy made sure he could keep up. He was not letting go of that hand.

Yes, Stiles was totally the biggest girl for thinking it, but he couldn't shake the titanic scene out of his head. The one where Jack and Rose were being chased by those bad guys through the ship, and they held hands the whole time, and that stupid corny-but-you-love-it banjo music was playing in the background while they run for their lives.

It kind of felt like that. He wondered if they were going to end up in a conveniently placed car in a conveniently placed warehouse where there's just enough condensation to make the perfectly romantic but still PG-13 window sex scene so beautiful.

And then he wondered why he had thought all of this, and quickly denied that he might have hoped for this, and tugged his hand out of Derek's grip. They were in the parking lot now, only a few rows away from the van.

Derek turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Stiles glared.

"You know that was your fault, right?"

"Don't be so condescending. I wasn't some damsel that needed saving." Lies. In that situation, saving was exactly what he needed.

"Than I thoroughly apologize for not letting them kick your ass."

"You didn't even give me time! I could have taken him."

"Was this before or after you closed your eyes? I'm going to assume after. But you'd probably have been on the ground if that fist would have connected."

"I'm sorry, I lost you at eyes. You just said a shitload of words and I'm totally not used to hearing your voice for an extended period of time. I didn't think your tongue was strong enough to string all those vowels and consonants together. Doesn't it get tiring? You probably shouldn't talk for a week."

"As per _your_ demand, I'm pretty sure you know _exactly _how strong my tongue is."

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening and looking at Derek. He didn't care if it was the deer-in-headlights look either.

"You-what-no-we haven't talked about that! And we won't...ever. I can't believe you brought it up. I can't believe you remember that."

"Why the hell wouldn't I? I was perfectly sober, and you were the one begging me to stick my cock in you."

Stiles stopped completely. "Oh my god," he says as he starts shaking. "Oh my god this isn't happening. I was drunk. Holy shit you are such an asshole and I hate you and you should never talk about this again and why do I love the word and and please stop me from talking and oh my god I DO NOT want your dick inside me and oh my god..."

Derek's grin quickly fades to a frown. Stiles was starting to shake, almost falling over onto the parking lot concrete. And they were only two rows away.

"Stiles, calm down. I was just kidding. Hey...HEY!" Stiles really does fall, and Derek quickly catches him, straightening up, and putting his hand over the teen's heart.

"Breath. I was kidding. I know you were drunk. Calm down. Breath."

Stiles eyes focus on Derek (or at least attempt to) as his world slowly stops spinning.

"My chest..."

"I know. Breathe."

"Stiles?" They hear a worried voice, followed by another, and pretty soon they see a gang of people hurrying through parked cars.

"What the hell? We thought shit was legit going down! What was with the panic?" Jackson's voice is accusatory. Stiles _does not _need that right now.

"I told you it was a panic attack!" Scott answered the question for Stiles.

"I can't believe all of that was from a panic attack," Erika noted.

"What happened?" Isaac questioned.

"Some old dude wanted to use me as a punching bag with his friends. Derek rescued me. It was a close call. I want to leave...now."

Without another word, Stiles marched pass them and made his way to the car. They all turned to Derek.

He just gave an affirmative nod and made a motion for them to follow.

Nothing more was said about the drinking episode. In fact, Derek didn't even talk to Stiles for around a week, save the necessary greetings and pack training exercises.

After that week, it was Stiles who forced conversation on the adult. He was less than thrilled to fine the less-than-five-words-is-preferable Derek giving him very short and cut answers again.

Stiles didn't like it. He also didn't like how much he hated not talking with his alpha. Most of all, he hated how...hot he had gotten when Derek had talked about putting certain _stuff_ in certain _places_.

Scratch that, those feelings were the second worst. The first; not quite knowing how to take the second worst feelings. Sure he wanted to just hate them - hate how he shivered when Derek talked about his cock.

But than, why was Stiles jerking off in the shower thinking about just that?

Yes, it was that confusion that he hated the most.

Stupid handholding and stupid rock concerts and stupid drunk kissing and gahh, STUPID.

Two times. Whatever. They were done. _They were done._

Stiles should stop telling himself that.

* * *

_A/N – Yahh! Rock concerts for the win! Go check out the band because they are AMAZING. But leave a review before hand and tell me what you thought! I'll give you two words for the third time…grocery store!_


	3. The Third Time

**THE THIRD TIME**

Stiles frowned. He really, _really _wanted Mac n Cheese for dinner. He didn't want to make the effort of actually making it, though. And he hasn't used a stove since last year when he attempted to fry hamburger meat but instead ended up with half the town's electricity cut off.

That was more per his father's rules than his own fear of the kitchen; but he was fairly sure that even if he did venture on to the oven and attempted Mac and Cheese...it would be a disaster.

Still, the young teen clutched the box as if praying it could magically make prepare and serve itself. His father had been called into a neighboring county for extra help (some big political rally) and had left Stiles completely alone for the night. Not that he wasn't used to this, it's just that his father had planned on cooking tonight so he wasn't prepared to fend for himself.

He put it on the shelf...but than took it back. Then started to put it back, but then stopped his arm. He repeated this a few times.

"You look ridiculous."

Stiles spun around, Mac and Cheese in hand, and faltered when he came face to face with Derek.

"Derek! What the hell are you doing here?"

"It's a grocery store, Stiles."

"Oh my god, is there like some murderer here? Like, right now? Are you investigating? Is there another werewolf in here?"

"It's a grocery store, Stiles."

Stiles huffed. He hated when Derek said his name in that voice, as if speaking to an overly active and all together annoying child.

"You already said that bro. Is that supposed to be your way of saying your buying food? Because I high-" He snapped his mouth shut when he saw the little carrier basket Derek was holding.

And of course he burst out laughing.

Derek glared. He started to walk away. Stiles followed.

"I'm sorry man," Stiles was practically choking on his laughter. "It's just that I'd never picture you doing grocery shopping. Especially not with one of those old lady baskets. Oh my god I never want to forget this."

"Well I never thought you'd look like a constipated idiot as you couldn't decide if you wanted a damn box of mac and cheese."

Stiles laughter died instantly. He huffed and felt his cheeks burn red.

"At least we're past the three-word phase again," he decided to look on the bright side. The whole 'Stiles-move' or 'Stiles-Throw-Arrow-" or "Stiles-Leave-Now" was getting very old everybody knew Derek was smarter than a caveman.

Of course, Derek said nothing to this. This did not deter Stiles. No way was he going to pass this golden opportunity up to get under his alpha's skin.

"So what's on the menu tonight? I think most of their meat here comes without the fur so that will save you from having to clean it, that's nice right? What do you even eat when we're not there? Come to think of it, what do you even _do _when we're not there?"

Stiles realized he had no idea what the alpha did when his pack wasn't tearing up the older man's house. He definitely couldn't see Derek watching TV (he hardly showed interest when everybody else did) nor could he see him actually going out and being with regular humans.

Yes, Stiles understands _he's_ a human too, but in no way was he regular. Nobody else had the Stilinski-badassery that he possessed, and therefore could not be placed in the _regular_ category like all the other humans that crowded this supermarket.

He also couldn't see Derek talking a stroll through the words, unless fully shifted. But that would be more like a storming-the-woods-and-scaring-all-the-cute-woodla nd-creatures-away kind of stroll, so could that even be counted as fun? Stiles didn't think so.

And that was the reason it was the only thing on Stiles list that he could legitimately see Derek doing when nobody else was around.

When nobody else was around...holy shit. Now Stiles was totally thinking of Derek masturbating and stop, stop, stop, _stop! _Derek would totally be able to smell that, and Stiles was not having it.

_Dead babies, dead babies, dead babies, _Stiles repeated in his head. Or so he had thought.

"Seriously Stiles," and his eyes snapped up to Derek's, who looked extremely pissed. "I do not eat the young."

Stiles bowed his head. Derek looked legit mad.

"I-I'm sorry, I wasn't saying that. I had this thought in my head that I wanted to get out so I was thinking of dead babies. Not that I think about dead babies! Cause that would be gross and psychotic and totally make me worthy of a psych eval and I really don't think I need one. At least I don't have the time for one. No, it's that I don't have the money for one. So yeah... Hey, where are you going?"

He jogged back up to Derek and watched him grab multiple containers of ground beef.

"I'm not a lunatic," Stiles whimpered.

"Ok. Have a good day."

He turned. Stiles followed.

"You never answered my question. What _do _you do when the pack's gone?"

Derek grunted.

And that, apparently, was his idea of a totally thorough and satisfying answer.

"Fine. What are you doing tonight?" They turned down the dessert isle, and Stiles squealed when Derek stopped to get a single cup size of cookie dough ice cream.

"Oh my god that's my favorite kind! Shit we both have the same favorite ice cream flavors. You have to be friends with me now. Or at least say a sentence that a third grader couldn't say."

"I don't have favorites."

"Right, right. You don't have a favorite anything, you hate sunshine, you wish all butterflies would die, you think laughter is overrated and should never have been invented, and prefer your Bambi bloody and dead under your teeth than prancing around a pretty meadow scene on your TV. Got it. Now let me have this."

Stiles quickly grabbed the single size of ice cream and shoved it back in the freezer. He then grabbed a whole tub and threw it into Derek's cart. He also threw his mac and Cheese in there too.

Derek looked completely unfazed, bored, and like he was regretting deciding to have a dinner tonight that couldn't fight back.

"What are you doing?" He asked stoic.

"My dad's not home till super late tonight so I'm coming over and your making me Mac and Cheese. And than we can have ice cream."

"No."

Stiles grin grew wider. Derek was so...just so _something_ when he was blank faced and careless.

"You are. Because as the alpha it is your duty to protect your pack. And if you send me home and I attempt to make Mac and Cheese, well, I don't know what the death toll will be but you can certainly count me. And we all know that the pack will crumble without me. Scott will turn all angsty. Lydia will cry for days. Jackson will finally realize he liked me as a friend and will cry too. Erika will realize her crush and she'll kill herself out of emotional pain. The list goes on."

Derek's face wasn't blank anymore. His mouth was open and he was looking at Stiles like he was legitimately crazy. He looked like _he'd _pay for Stiles to get a psych evaluation.

"Fine. Just fine. Come to my house than. I don't care."

Stiles smirked. He knew very well that his blabbering powers had crippling you-must-agree-just-to-shut-me-up effects that were clearly taking hold of Derek.

* * *

This was stupid. He was absolutely _not_ doing this. Stiles swore at himself as he snapped his closet doors closed.

No. He would wear what he had worn the whole day. They were simply going to _hang out. _Stiles wasn't even going to take a shower. Yes, that's right, no shower. That's how much of a regular _hang out_ this was.

He smiled at himself as he unconsciously sniffed his armpits. His smile faltered.

Thirty minutes later, Stiles stood in front of his mirror. He was freshly showered and changed into new clothes.

_It's okay though_, Stiles tried to rationalize; _I'm just wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. That's super casual. Like, he will just think I'm chilling. Chilling? Who the hell says that in their head?_

He groaned. He firmly ignored the little voice in his head that screamed _damn you Stiles, these are your most form fitting sweatpants and your favorite hoodie._

Whatever, they were just friends. You totally do not dress up for friends. That's all they were, all they'd ever be, and Stiles needed to calm the fuck down.

He got this. He _got_ this. He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He told Derek he'd be there in fifteen.

* * *

So, here he was, talking excitedly with his _friend_ about very _friendly_ things. He was perched on the counter in Derek's loft, watching Derek's back with glee as the other man buzzed around the kitchen. He was preparing two dinners, as his alpha refused to eat Mac N' Cheese.

Right, back to the talking. Stiles talked about being better at lacrosse since the pack training sessions. He talked about how much he hated a few of his teachers; even going into detail about a few select times he was grossly and wrongly punished. He talked about Scott. He talked about Allison. He talked about his dad. He talked about aliens. He talked about the possibility of the Loch Ness Monster. He talked about pretty much everything he talked about with Scott. That was a good jumping off point, right?

He basically talked to himself. But that didn't really bother Stiles. Derek would make noncommittal grunts every once in a while, thrown in with an eye roll here and a shifted eyebrow there for good measure.

All the while Stiles realized (and relished in the fact) that he couldn't think of any time Derek spent one-on-one with a member of the pack that wasn't training oriented or revolving around achieving some kind of goal.

This was not that. This was _hanging out_. This realization made Stiles smile.

"I never realized you could cook," he noted, suddenly seeming to actually see the giant production in front of him. His eyes had been glued on Derek's back while he had talked his head off. He should have been looking at the food instead.

Finally, _finally, _Derek decided to speak actual words.

"So do you still want the Mac N Cheese?"

Stiles observed the many pots and pans. Derek was making himself some kind of steak. He had whipped up something that looked like mashed potatoes, but he could definitely smell the butter and garlic improvements wafting off of them. He had also made three different vegetables; asparagus (wrapped in bacon), a tomato and brussels sprout blend, and a pan full of different colored peppers.

He had also made a sauce that Stiles suspected was home made, and that would be used to drizzle over the steak. Oh, and there was blue cheese crumbles waiting on a plate on the opposite counter.

Stiles pan of Mac n Cheese was on the back burner, looking as out of place and childish as it could get.

"Holy shit Derek, what the hell? Why do you never make this stuff for us?"

Grunt.

Effective, Stiles thought. Way to use those words.

Stiles slipped off the counter stool and walked over to Derek. His eyes were glued on the steaks. Yes, as in plural.

"You made two steaks?"

Derek looked uncomfortable as he shrugged.

"Thought you'd want one," he mumbled/growled/scowled/murmured/seriously Stiles had no idea what that was. Derek had found a way to be downright threatening but..._shy_ _(?!)_ at the same time.

"Yes I want one! Holy shit I would never miss the opportunity to taste the cooking of Derek Hale. Especially since it's looking like Mr. Hale has been a cooking guru in disguise all this time which is really unfair as you usually just feed the pack take out pizza when we're over. Which is often. And I love pizza and all, but a change would be nice. So like maybe we should get the Chinese every once in a while? Or I don't know we can try that new-"

"Stiles," Derek warned. Stiles shut his mouth instantly. He looked up at Derek with the best I'm-the-most-badass-friend-ever-please-forgive-my- rambling look and frowned.

Derek huffed.

"Just..just go sit down and decide what we're watching. I'll bring you your damn plate."

Stiles frown split into a huge grin. He nodded once than bolted to the couch and started the TV.

Holy shit so many firsts. Stiles actually got to choose what to watch on the TV this time. Usually it was either Lydia, Erika, or Jackson that decided, so this was a nice change.

Derek handed Stiles his plate as he sat down next to him. Stiles hated how aware he was of the exact distance Derek had chosen to sit. They weren't thigh to thigh, but it wasn't like Derek was on the complete other side of the couch. They were...close. Comfortably close. It was driving Stiles insane.

"So I was thinking either Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, American Werewolf, or X-Men. You can choose."

Derek groaned. "Stiles, two of those movies are about werewolves. Seriously?"

"Yeah! I thought it would be funny to see how horribly wrong they got them! And you could be all brooding and I-hate-bad-depictions-of-reality and I could be all sarcastic and pushy of the Derek-buttons!"

"And why X-Men?" Derek sighed. It was clearly his I'm-asking-but-I-already-know-the-answer-is-going- to-cause-an-eye-roll kind of sighs.

"That's easy. Because Hugh Jackman was a beast in the movie and totally reminds me of-" Stiles snapped his mouth shut and widened his eyes. _Of you. _He was totally going to say it. He was totally going to say it and that would have made this the most awkward dinner ever. Which it really shouldn't be because it deserves so much more; Stiles had already sneaked a bite of the steak and it was amazing.

"Reminds you of what?" Derek was suddenly interesting, fixing Stiles with that stupid gaze that made the younger teen feel like Derek was reading his mind. Or his soul. Definitely his soul's mind. Yeah that seemed like the most realistic.

"Of...the summer I first say the movie. Yeah, badass summer. Anyway, moving the fuck on. Chose the damn movie asshole."

Yes. That was a great recovery. It totally earned a fucking gold medal for best recovery. Stiles had practically burst into a sweat, slurred his words, raced his heart, and turned a shade of red.

Not even Derek would be able to sense that lie. *Face palm*.

"You're lying." And now he was grinning, and now Stiles had stopped breathing.

And now he was telling himself that he really should breath. And now Derek's face was turning more into a frown because he most of noticed the attempt at suicide Stiles seemed to be achieving. And now he was attempting suicide, what? And now even he was confused. Oh god, and now he was using the word 'and' all the time. And didn't that already happen once? Whatever, It was clearly happening _again_. Brain=mush.

"Okay, whatever. You're lying, I don't care. We'll watch X-men." Derek quickly turned it on and cast a sideways glance to see if it caused any kind of recovery in him.

It did. Stiles took a breath. The world came back into focus.

"Whoops, sorry about that. Kind of got lost in my thoughts. What were you saying?" Stiles mocked innocence as he cut himself a piece of Steak. "Wow this is amazing? You really need to know that."

Derek huffed. He looked like he preferred scary possibly-attempting-suicide-dude-isn't-breathing-S tiles over I'm-complimenting-your-super-secret-culinary-skill s-Stiles.

"Watch the movie, Stiles."

Stiles shut up. A smile crossed his face as he turned his attention to the movie. He just could not understand Derek or the stupid _feelings_ predicament he was in. He hated crushes. And whatever this was. Because it felt like a different breed of crush.

They finished their meals and watched the rest of the movie. When it was done, Stiles was surprised that it was Derek, not himself, that grumbled, "might as well watch the next one."

So they did. They left the dishes in the kitchen and sat down to watch the second one. This time, Stiles gulped, they were even closer. Their thighs were mere inches apart.

About halfway through the movie, not even the excitement of legitimately hanging out with Derek Hale could keep him awake. His eyes felt like a million pounds as they kept almost shutting.

Finally, he let them fall. And than, before he knew it, his head followed. But instead of falling backwards, it fell to the side. Right on to Derek's shoulder.

Stiles hummed in comfort. Shit, he was tired. So what if he slept on Derek?

Derek growled. Stiles grinned.

"Oh shut up," he tiredly slurred. He waited a few minutes, and when Derek didn't try to shake him off, he scooted that extra inch till they were pressed against each other.

"Thanks bud," Stiles murmured happily.

No response.

Which, in this case, turned out to be the best fricken response Stiles had heard all day.

* * *

_A/N – And that's the third time! I feel like that took me forever. I'm sorry. The next time is….I don't know yet. I have ideas, but I want another fluffy one before I start implementing the kind of serious ones that are floating around in my head. Any cute ideas? Tell me what you thought of the third time too please! : )_


End file.
